WE blunder in thought
to think of Eternity as
a never-ending Father-Time
— like a slippery infinity.
Eternity is nothing more
than the absence of Time.
And what of Infinity?
That cosmic cat forever
chasing its slippery tail!
:: 08-26-2014 ::
I mouthed the morning,
and dew and petal!
I ate the soil but not
the bee, but even thorn!
I saw the gnome too,
inside a root of tree!
I kissed his conical hat
and kissed his feet!
This I did all before
but never in my sleep!
:: 08-26-2014 ::
SUCH persistent illusion
this box called life,
wherein I lay my bones
upon a hook the dream
swings to and fro.
Our majesty — Love,
tends to our soulful needs,
kissing the stars as we fall,
that vastness of other-there!
:: 01-23-2014 ::
AND as I have said before,
We have no choice but
to accept free will.
And angels have lollipops
and devils pinwheels.
:: 08-22-2014 ::
I took out a second mortgage on the flesh and bones
of my soul and drove home wondering if the foundation
was cracked. That would reduce the selling price
of the graveyard I sleep within each dying moment of
my lifeless wondering-wandering experience.
My llama was in the passenger seat, pink-lensed
circular glasses upon her long nose and crossed legs
(shaved just for me). She glanced at my in a
psychedelic motion and blew me a smothering-wet kiss
and said, “Focus on the road.” She smoked like a chimney
and I took a drag oh, well, drag, and we drag on, don’t wee.
Night forgave the day in all it’s fucked ways and we
kissed a star before entering our habitat. There’s a
staircase and beneath it a library with forgotten prose.
I grabbed a book on the way up into our nest.
“Animal Farm” the spine read. I feel like, “Minimus”
in a world of humans.
:: 08-30-2014 ::
I kissed a Monet painting, Van Gogh too!
And Mona Lisa kissed the man behind the
brushstroke of lifePaint. And then that’s when
I saw her walk through the door —
of the outdoor of life, and I cried,
“Art, pop, and poetry!”
She pulled them all inside her heart.
And I was taken by her soul and lips.
And she walks like a portrait off some museum wall!
Built like life and mother Earth,
she came to me through the dream
of my waking life.
And she (oh!) walked and all life and reality
followed her through Life. And her hair
and eyes said to me, “I was so busy doing
something and nothing for my own life dear.”
That’s when I walked through the LifeDoor
of the Outdoor of Life.
And I caught a butterfly and said, “I think I
love her.”
My woman is poetry, art, and life and lust,
and all God gave to me!
And I think…yeah, think, I could love her.
thunder talking, and lightning walks but
my baby loves me most!
IT’S the art of love.
And she has a strawberry kiss and raspberry lips.
:: 08-30-2014 ::
WHERE are my poets? I wish to play
a game known as, “Exquisite corpse.”
It also goes by, “Cadavre exquis.”
We should collectively gather
our words and images so lovely.
I cleaned my parlour for this game,
and have wine and foods for all!
Let our hearts and souls gather!
:: 08-30-2014 ::
I ride the path by mouth
and nothing more
The pen is dried and tears
have taken a road by south.
Who should feed my vagrant words
they starve at day and flee by night!
And detours, forked by white S paces
And pregnant pauses give birth
to tiny doubts upon my ink!
I watch the children drown there.
A fountain in the square of town
is where I dip my quill,
and the Crier shouts,
“Oyez, Oyez, Oyez!”
Remember all the good souls!
:: 08-23-2014 ::
My dreams! Oh! My sweet dreams!
Each night so many scenes!
I dip my eyes into ink-night
and blink and there’s the stage!
The actor’s call and there we are!
All our lines thrown to the winds,
and the props do change on a dime!
Last night I kissed a whale —
and then flew my car into the moon.
I laughed and then I cried tears
as I turned around and saw Mother Earth!
It’s a lump in your heart when you see
no countries or war or death,
and only one world as a whole!
My dreams! Oh! My sweet dreams!
:: 08-26-2014 ::
THERE! Love in a white-feather soul
And I saw you in my dream a mourning ago
I fill my feeder with sugar liquor
And last week you flew to the beak
The surprise of a golden heart
when doves take flight they give
a silver-pitched whistle…
My mourning dove wing whistle!
:: 08-21-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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